


A Display of Humanity and Emotion

by Greekgeekofmlp



Series: Things I Wrote In Class and Dumped Here [4]
Category: No Fandom, Original Work
Genre: Blood and Gore, Crimes & Criminals, Cults, Detectives, Eldritch, Emotions, Food, Gen, Ghosts, Injury, Mythology References, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Psychological Horror, Religious Cults, Rituals, Selectively Mute Major Character, Sports, Volleyball, cosmic horror, one shots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:01:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 4,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23382001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Greekgeekofmlp/pseuds/Greekgeekofmlp
Summary: Just something I wrote for class, so nothing much.... enjoy??
Series: Things I Wrote In Class and Dumped Here [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1681750





	1. The Detective (Nervousness)

**Author's Note:**

> This one is pretty long.... to the point where the teacher yelled at me (again) for the length of the piece.

Millie walked into the room, shoulders slumping and feet barely lifting off the ground. She really wasn’t in the mood for this today. Of course, the universe decided to say screw you and plant a nondescript person near a place that kept becoming the site of a crime scene. She took a moment to note everything she could about the suspect in case she managed to sneak out. She jotted down bullet points on the notepad of her mouse-brown hair, the hook nose, honey skin, and her oval face. She also added that the suspect refused to open her eyes; the one thing that bystanders had been able to gather about the killer. She cleared her throat softly and began the interrogation.

“Alrighty miss, what’s your name?” The woman kept her mouth shut, not making any move to speak for the next minute as Millie waited for an answer. “Since it doesn’t seem like you're too keen on talking, let me grab some paper.” She shot a glance at the intern on the other side of the one-sided glass, and thank the  _ gods _ the kid knew general ques. Not too long after he came in with a pen and paper, placing it close enough to the suspect for her to be able to reach it even with the cuffs on. The moment his hands retreated, hers practically lunged for the legal pad and Millie almost didn’t notice the little smile that crossed the woman’s face when he flinched back.  _ Almost. _ She took care to not let the quizzical look that boiled in her off her face, considering that it might have been a trick of the light. She paused, then started writing in large swooping motions, using up as much space as possible. She turned the paper around to show her what she’d written.

_ Angerona. _ Good, this is a start.

“Okay, Miss… Angerona? Do you have a last name?” Millie most definitely butchered her name, but that wasn’t of importance. She shook her head. Odd, it wasn’t often they got this, even from kids who just got out of the adoption system without a guardian.

The rest of the investigation went rather poorly, with Angerona using vague answers that didn’t make sense in the situation at all, putting Millie on edge. It didn’t help that the air around this girl was off. Then the last question came in for the suspect.

“Alright, Angerona one last question,” the woman’s shoulders visibly sagged in relief, “what were you doing with a boning knife and a stone dagger at an often used crime scene?” Her demeanor didn’t change noticeably, but to the trained eye, one could see her stiffen just the slightest. Good, now she‘s finding out what it’s like to be in her presence.

What Millie expected Angerona to do was leap for the window, maybe dislocating her wrists in forgetting that she was chained to the interrogation table.

What Millie  _ didn’t _ expect was for Angerona to tremble for a moment, then stop. Right when she stopped, the tremors spread through the rest of the room, slithering across the floor and creeping up the walls like ivy gone wild. She  _ definitely _ didn’t expect Angerona to smile through this supposed earthquake. The woman across from the detective sat up straight like she had been a member of royalty spotted slumping, a smirk splitting her face in half. Millie crossed her arms, and let a stony glare fall on like a mask, directing the intensity at Angerona, as if to say  _ I know you’re doing something _ . She took up an act of confidence, but her body screamed at her that something was wrong. Her palms started getting sweaty, her throat clenching and unclenching in a way that was sure to make her voice tremble, and her stomach churned most unpleasantly. Her nervousness had turned into  _ fear _ . The worst part was that Angerona had opened her eyes.

There was no sclera, or pupil, or iris to mark a fake one. Instead, its nebulas and galaxies imploding and collapsing in on themselves, with stars speckling the dark backdrop, and planets decaying and breaking off into dust, with fires raging over the surfaces and monolithic glaciers standing tall in contrast and they fought but no one would co _ me out and the ice wouldn’t melt in the heat and the fire wouldn’t die as chunks of ice would fall into the embers as water and _ -

The eye sockets peeled away at the skin surrounding, but there was only more darkness. Her grin was all teeth, the tips dangerous and serrated, ready to rip into any prey, and were they  _ always that sharp? _

_ It’s alright dear.  _ Thousands of voices whispered and hissed, hoarse and scratching against the ear. They came from every angle, every nook and crevice, wrapping around the mind and grating into her mind. One voice was louder than the others, screaming and feminine and it would have been so beautiful and melodic if it hadn’t been static that distorted it into every pitch that she could think of and then some. And it emanated from Angerona, but her mouth never opened. The sound vibrated the skin on her arms, and in response it roiled and swirled into a black tar-like substance, creasing it awkwardly. It spread up in both directions from the elbow, grasping on and moving all the way to the wrist and shoulder, and her hands turned into claws that would’ve dwarfed Millie’s throat if they had throttled it. The color on the walls dripped down to the tile that crumbled away into the nothingness that had now surrounded them and at the same time was always in there gagging and strangling them without them even noticing.

Angerona’s skin melted off her face in fleshy lumps, dragging muscle with it showing off the bleached bone beneath that was disintegrating into the darkness that ate away and consumed mindlessly like a disease. The smile never disappeared throughout this whole ordeal, even after she lost her lips there was a distinct impression of an unnerving smile in the way the skull (or at least was left of it) lilted to Millie’s left, leaned in towards the detective, jaw resting idly on clawed hands that held the darkest shadows that the human mind could not comprehend. Even as the meat on the bones liquified, the talons still collected and rippled imitating muscles, strong and intimidating, but it was still so wrong, and it didn’t bend right or rotate correctly and chan _ ged in shape and size and she couldn’t foc _ us on them without getting the beginning of a migraine. With a passing thought, Millie realized that they could crush her windpipe with less effort than her using scissors to cut paper.

_ I may not be the one you seek, but, _ the voice was back, and it was so  _ so _ much worse, shrieking voices in the back that permanently needled their way into sounds that bounced and rattled around the inside of her head.  _ I can absolutely help you find them. _ One of those  _ things _ reached out and she flinched back, clutching onto the arms of her slowly deteriorating chair as if it could save her. Something that resembled a thumb wiped away teary streaks that ran down her face. She hadn’t even realized she’d been crying.  _ Because darling, _ the voice continued, scratchier and breaking out with static with every other syllable almost completely beyond understanding,  _ I know everything. _ She pressed tendrils of the things that horribly resembled hands and ribbons of purplish-pink light that marbled between the two colors swam from all around into her eyes and ears and any opening they could get at. Millie’s eyes rolled back and her head slammed onto the table.

_ A glimpse of adoption papers with a familiar name and a flash of the intern’s face. _

_ A hood retracting to show raven hair pulled back to frame an ivory-toned face with eyes the color of denim marbled with a cerulean or cornflower set into the sockets, and a triangle of moles beneath the right eye. A lithe body structure, short and making it easy to make it into small spaces. Splatters of blood creeping up her blood from the absolutely covered knife she held in her hand, and a stray drop or two adorned her face. _

_ A group of people that varied in every aspect all dressed in dark violet robes in a circle with candles and a mutilated lamb. _

_ Millie’s boyfriend with another girl -wa _ it what?

She lifted her head off the table and found herself alone in the room with fuzzy memories of investigating a… girl? Somebody? Was she even interviewing someone? Why was she in the interrogation room? She exited, remembering only the glimpses of secrets that were shown to her with no recollection of how she got them. But she most definitely knew what to do with them.


	2. The Birth of a Spirit (Despair)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Found something in Greek Mythology and thought it would be fun to make an origin story, and it lined up nicely with the project. Sorry for the shortness!!

Ania threw her head back to check if her mother was keeping up, check if she was right behind her. What she was greeted with made her throat clench. Her mother, an arm reached out with the tipped building clipping at her feet, yelling for her to keep running. With her daughter’s name on her lips, the descending rubble engulfed her, not giving time for Ania to observe the splattered puddle of wine like red that pooled beneath the hunk of concrete before she needed to sprint off. It was too close for comfort at this point, but she couldn’t care less with tears stinging at her eyes and threatening to spill over. Finally, the ruckus stopped and Ania turned on her heel to take in all the destruction that had taken her mother. She bit her lip and her chin trembled, tears welling more vehemently in her eyes. She sunk to her knees, shoulders rigid and shaking as she hunched over on herself, screams and sobs clawing to be ripped from her throat. She rocked back and forth, light breathy hiccups escaping her wide open mouth, hands grasping for purchase on the gravelly ground in front of her. She clenched her jaw shut and whipped her head up, scrambling to the pile of debris, throwing anything she could haul out of the damned thing, determined to reach her mother. She might still be breathing. She could be trapped. She could still be _alive_. People who had watched on and did nothing just stood there witnessed the horrible event pulled the sobbing girl from the heap and cocooned her in strong, warm arms, and anyone who could whispered quiet little nothings meant to comfort her, saying “We’re here for you, dear”, “It’s okay”, and the worst of them all, “Let it go”. All of it meant nothing. She just tilted her head to the sky, tears streaming down her face, screaming at Zeus, shaking fists at the idea and name of Thanatos because she was convinced that it wasn’t yet her mother’s time. She cursed every god and goddess she could think of, and then made up some more to curse. She lost all her energy and collapsed and hugged herself, rocking back and forth again. The funeral was quiet, and right after Ania started wandering. She walked until her dark black peplos was torn to shreds at the bottom and her feet bled, and she still walked on. She did not stop for food and she did not stop for water, for her mother would never again indulge in these activities. It wasn’t until her emaciated body had mindlessly meandered off a cliff that the gods took pity on her, imprinting her with immortality and shifting her through a fold in space they’d made on the spot that connected to Thebes instead of the jagged rocks in the frothing Aegean sea. That day had made her one of the three Algeas, Ania, the personification of ache and anguish.


	3. Spiral

Brutus strolled down the halls of the college prep school, hunching into his bomber jacket, a scowl on his face. Of  _ course _ Bryen got his position on the starting line up and he was cast away to a position he didn’t play  _ nearly _ as well. But, he was a senior, he was expected to suck it up even though the coaches, no matter how many times they got a new one, refused to put him in the starting line up, up until this year and it wasn’t even the right position. He has been replaced on the court for the last three years of his life, never subbed in, never even thrown a glance by his teammates, let alone his peers who didn’t even realize he was on the team until he told them. It was  _ infuriating _ . And the worst part was that his spot was guaranteed until that brat came along, and he stole it  _ all. _ The cherry on top of this sundae of horridity was that he was kicked off the team and was banned from extracurriculars for the rest of the year for punching the entitled bastard in the face. Bryen deserved it, and Brutus did not regret a thing, and if anything it fueled the flame inside him that would later lead him down the dark path of a psychopath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not gonna lie, found a song called Brutus that was based on the Shakespeare play Julius Caesar so I rolled with it.


	4. Bowling (Happiness)

Pyro shifted from foot to foot excitedly, he was the next up in the game to roll the ball down the lane. He took a breath after heaving his ball into his arm to place his fingers in the hole. He positioned himself a few boards to the right of the second arrow and glanced at the headpin. He hugged the ball to his chest, supporting it from underneath with both his hands, back straight and the toes of his left foot almost touching the heel of his right. Another breath. He took the first step, letting the weight of the ball drag it towards the floor, unsupported. He took another step slowly, and another a little quicker, and he kept walking up to the foul line, each step a little faster than the last. When he reached the foul line, he whipped the ball down the lane. To his horror, it seemed to head straight for the gutter before making a sharp curve, now barreling for the sweet pocket of strikes. An insanely large smile split his face at the sound of the pins crashing into one another. Upperclassmen came up behind him and ruffled his hair affectionately, praise falling from their lips, only serving to make the already gigantic grin become freakishly large. To anyone watching, he was glowing with joy. This felt right, and he wouldn’t give it up for anything else in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have a bowling boi bc I wasn't able to participate this season.  
> Also!!! If you're wondering why there's only like, two really long one's and the rest are mostly just a paragraph or two long, it's because we were only /supposed/ to write a paragraph, and I went /way/ overboard.


	5. trust is such a fatal thing (Distrust)

Mae was the most beautiful person Sága had ever seen, but… something about her screamed that she was a betrayal in progress. Her brother was a well off CEO, and not shortly after he got that promotion is when she’d shown up, clinging to him like he was nothing more than arm candy. Sága had confronted her brother about this so-called ‘coincidence’ multiple times, but he refused to believe her, going as far as accusing her that she was jealous of Mae. She shook her head every time, internally screaming about how tightly the rose-tinted glasses were fastened to him. 

Everyone came back for the holidays recently, and his actions went even further yesterday, striking her and yelling at her to respect his fiancee - no  _ wife _ . That’s right. She forgot since she  _ wasn’t invited to the wedding. _ She still couldn’t believe that they thought that she was gonna be disruptive about the damned union. She just grumbled, finally turning a blind eye to the will of a lovesick man after growling out something about idiocracy.

Now, the thing about Sága was that she’s always had trouble sleeping, so she wasn’t surprised when she woke up at two in the morning to a bout of sleep paralysis after falling asleep only an hour or so ago. What she was mildly surprised by the sounds coming from her brother’s room. And  _ no _ , it was not what you’d expect to be coming from a newly wed’s room. Instead, she heard  _ squabbling _ .

_ So it began _ , she’d chuckled to herself bathing in this mini victory. The unexpected cherry was the hard clink she heard against the wall. When Sága heard it, her mouth automatically opened and let out a disbelieving whisper, “Oh damn, someone threw their ring.”

The sound of a door swinging open harshly sounded through the house followed by a light trot. Her own door swung open revealing a pretty ticked off Lemmy. He opened his mouth and began to say the words she’d been expecting to hear with a fiery expression and a tone weaved together with _pain_ , “You were-” A pale hand covered his mouth before the third word could come out. There was a slight glint in the dark and a muffled cry of pain. Sága still couldn’t move, stuck watching helplessly as her brother crumpled to the ground, eyes wide open and fully conscious, a small pool of blood gathering beneath him. She wanted to _scream_. Her eyes were barely open, so the person who stabbed him must have assumed she was asleep. They stepped into a splash of moonlight. _It was freaking Mae_. She _knew_ to not trust that manipulative trash and she tried to warn the others and she tried to warn her brother _and no one would listen_. She begged her body to move, to _twitch_ even, she wanted to move, she wanted - no, _needed,_ to protect her baby brother. It’d been a long time since she was this frustrated.

Mae had looked down on her spouse, a small smile painted with splatters of blood stretched across her lips. “Oh, Koalemos, if only you’d asked me what Mae was short for.” Her words were rolled in saccharin and laced with venom, and a giggle that would have been adorable in any other circumstance fell from her pretty little lips. But right now, it was  _ sickening _ .

“I thought Mae  _ was _ your name!” and at that moment, Sága knew her brother was an  _ absolute idiot _ .

Mae deadpanned, “No, I asked our wedder to use my nickname for the ceremony. How did you not know?”

“ _ If I knew that, do you honestly think I would’ve been called Koalemos Aisa Pachis in front of a crowd?” _

“You really are a true fool Koalemos. Technically, he wasn’t supposed to, but this dainty Lil face can be very…  _ persuasive _ .” Her slim hand ghosted by the dip of her inner thighs, and  _ wow _ , that was a low blow. Telling your husband that you slept with the guy who declared you man and wife the night before your wedding, right as you're killing him is on its own level of cruelty.

The fire in Lemmy’s eyes extinguished, leaving nothing but a welling of dawning horror. You could see the gears turning as he registered that  _ he was going to die. _ “If… if Mae isn’t your full name then what is it, lo- er,” he cleared his throat, cutting himself off from using his old pet name for her.

Another curl of her lip into a cooing smile and she sweetly told him, “Old dear, it’s Tamamo no Mae.” She stooped down next to him and pulled out his tongue to slice it off. Like any reasonable person, Sága used the little control she  _ did _ have over her body and closed her eyes to avoid watching the slimy appendage being severed from his mouth. There was a gurgled cry of pain, and then a fleshy thud followed by another and another until his voice went silent and all she could hear was the telltale uneven breathing that gave way to sobs. She reopened her eyes and saw that the puddle of blood around her baby brother was growing more rapidly, and he was curled up in the middle of it, red staining the back of his nightshirt and trickling out from in between the fingers clamped over his mouth. His shoulders trembled, and right as Tamamo planted the knife and transferred the bloodied gloves on her hands to Sága’s bed is when sleep decided to drag Sága in and smother her into the unconscious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here, have some Japanese mythology, bc I be a weird ass nerd.


	6. the kindest will break, and all you'll be left with is hate (Chagrin)

Kore sat there, tears pricking at her eyes, spoiled milk sitting in her long blonde hair with chunks of the rancid substance clumping the strands together. Oh, how she wanted to cry, but that would only make them laugh harder.

“Oops,” chuckled Veronica, a hand covering what was most definitely a cruel smile that held back snickers. Chunks still slid down her once silky hair onto one of her favorite blouses, ruining the material. The tears finally spilled and she covered her mouth and held her neck, attempting to hold back the choked sobs that clawed at her throat. “Oh look! The baby’s crying!”

Veronica did nothing to hide the smile this time or to conceal the laughter that bubbled out of her as she pointed at her. Kore had no idea what to do with the entire lunchroom pointing and laughing and the staff just turning a blind eye as they absolutely  _ destroyed _ her. So she went on instinct, not even questioning what it was telling her to do. Long story short, bad idea. Next thing she knew, strands of spaghetti adorned Veronica’s once-white shirt, now painted red with sauce. A gasp rippled through everyone, all noises going deathly silent.

In one fluid movement, the haughty girl gripped Kore by the collar of her shirt and pulled her close. “Do you have a death wish?” she hissed in the shell of Kore’s ear. The person in question whimpered in response, shutting her eyes tightly, stuttering out apologies. “Sorries ain’t gonna cut it, you bi-”

Kore didn’t even realize when she started moving, but she had absentmindedly shoved her piece of garlic bread in the girl’s fat mouth and ran like her life depended on it. Really, though?  _ It did _ .

The next day, she came in, the sides of her head clipped rather short, accentuating the roundness of her face, and a tousled mop of the honey curls sat on the top of her head. After that whole ordeal, she went by Persephone. No one dared mess with her in fear of ruining their clothes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hahahahAHAHAHA  
> I love my gods and bitches get stitches, that's all I'm sayin'


	7. let me hear you roar, Little Lion (Exhilaration)

It was match point and it was Nanna’s turn to serve. She stepped up to the border of the court and closed her eyes, dragging in a soothing breath. She tried to tamp down her sensitivity to all the auras and emotions flinging around her, and the ghosts that wandered in and out of people, passingly idly through. Now, she couldn’t see the beings, but she sure as hell could feel the remnants of their energies, and it was ridiculously distracting. She spun the ball in her hands, slamming it into the ground with a flat palm, waiting for the ref to blow the whistle. She backed up a significant amount as adrenaline coursed and throbbed in her veins, and she could feel the waves her spiritual energy gave off shaking the realm in which the spirits roamed. Another slow breath. Her heart pounded against her ribs, thumping heavily and shaking her vision ever so slightly. And then she saw it. The wispy outline of her grandmother. The woman who gave her inspiration. Her drive. The one who introduced her to volleyball not long before the heart attack that claimed her. The reason she was here. A smile graced her lips, and she spun the ball in her hands again, looking at her grandmother right in the eyes that shifted like smoke, knowing that it had taken a great sum of energy to become visible only to her. She stood right behind the team’s libero and floated/walked over to the back of the right-wing girl. Nanna couldn’t get a definite read on what her eyes looked like, but if her grandmother’s body language was anything to go by, she was trying to say just like old times, little lion. Her smile split her face in half and became damn near beaming, even with its intimidating undertone. The whistle blew and Nanna took one more moment to breathe, settling herself, and zoning in on the left of her grandma, eyes becoming reminiscent of a predator zeroing in on their prey. A jump float serve would be beautiful, but that’s a little risky right now considering she was actually trying to aim. She settled for a jump serve. The momentum of running and the sheer force of her swinging arm rocketed the ball like a cannonball at the opposite hitter, surprising the poor thing, since all of them expected it to be foolishly aimed for the libero. A small smirk played her lips. It was time to go again, playing to her grandma that no one else could see. She was this team’s ace, and like hell she was going to fail the girls that surrounded her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If u didn't catch, Grammy's ded and Nana has some weird/special eyes.


	8. fAt bAsTaRd (Gluttony)

The king sat at his table, gazing out of the window on the starving citizens below. He watched as emaciated faces that connected to their wiry bodies mingled with healthy round faces that sprinkled in, all of them trudging through the streets filled with human filth. He smiled something cruel and reached out a glittering hand to one of the many delectable objects that littered the table. He bit into a slice of sacher torte, dark chocolate frosting and golden apricot jam smearing on his chin and coarse crumbs fell from his lips, some of the residue sticking to the mess on his face, the rest bouncing off and making a mess of his robes. It melted in his mouth, the bitter chocolate blending with the sweet apricot, and the unsweetened whipped cream turning it into a pleasant paste in his mouth. He practically inhaled that and moved onto pieces of Nordic Napoleon bakelse (there were many, seeing as the kitchen knew that this was his favorite variety). The custard had a rich, buttery note, and glided on the tongue smoothly, mixing perfectly with the tart raspberries into a creamy concoction that excited the tongue and made the mouth water in anticipation. There were at least twelve other types of baked goods with recipes scattered around the world. Fluffy sweetbreads from South America; sticky, sweet pies from North America; savory buns of pumpkin bread from eastern Africa; little disks of alfajores with Arabic-Hispanic roots; flaky baklavas from the fallen Ottomans; creamy eclairs from the city of love; round Berliners birthed from a country known for hate; crunchy belekoys from islands off the coast of southern Asia; dense cakes that with light, whipped frostings and heavy buttercreams; and to the horror of any person who minds their waistline, there were still more desserts spread out on the table. And still, the monarch called for more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Debated on adding the tag "Food Porn" but idk if this counts XD.  
> But ye, I was borderline nervous to turn this one in because it's /really/ riding the border of being inappropriate and inappropriate. If I got something wrong with the foods, tell me, and I say this because I've never had most of them.


	9. SWEETIE (Generous)

Sally skipped back home after a meeting gone well at work, ballet flats slapping against the pavement with a cheerful note, ignoring the fact that it was already eight o’clock at night. She halted and looked at the figure huddled in the dip in the wall of the architecture to her right, naked feet sticking out of a worn-down blanket and grimy hands that clutched at the thinned out fabric. Their face was contorted into a grimace in their sleep, head bent at an awkward angle against the adjacent wall. Sally sighed, a pout taking place on her face at the sight, pitying the poor soul. Figuring she would be getting a promotion soon enough, she stooped down to take a seat. A small smile graced her lips and she slipped off her flats and promptly, but gently, shoved them onto the sleeping person’s feet. Satisfied, even though the shoes were a tad bit too big, her smile grew and she continued on her merry way with bare feet.


	10. floppity doppity he's not very hoppity (Exhaustion)

Sam stumbled into his room, dropping his bag onto the hardwood floor. His eyes drooped, half-lidded, as they were too heavy to keep open all the way. His feet dragged quietly across the floor to the plush bed that awaited him. His knees gave out and he flopped onto the cushy surface, gladly letting the sheets smother his face making it hard to breathe. He contentedly snuggled in and his body melted into the mattress after curling into a fetal position. The lazy claws of sleep teasingly caressed him, swaying him into a rhythm, before ripping him out of it with an abrupt noise just loud enough to jolt him into awareness, but soft enough to keep him motionless and idle. And finally, the dreamscape claimed him as one of their own, if only for an hour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Inhale* I LOVE MY TRANS SON, FITE ME.


	11. colors are are a hell of a blinder, yet red is the worst (Angry)

Alala was done.  _ So _ done. Some guy had spat at her feet, calling her a prude prick because of her choice of clothes today, which were a  _ sweater and jeans with boots _ (the nerve of some people!). The coffee shop that had never failed her messed up her order on her way to the college campus, and when she went to go either have them give her a new, fixed, one for free or just generally buy another, they said that she was being delusional. Not going back to that place for a while, have fun losing a valued customer that came in consistently. She caught her boyfriend cheating on her, she failed her architecture test  _ despite _ pulling all-nighters for weeks before the damned thing, and somebody had keyed her car. To say she was mad would be a serious understatement. She was gripping the steering wheel so tight her knuckles were white, eyes narrowed into slits, refusing to let the welling tears flow. Her nose was running, and her throat constricted with sobs that were locked away in it. All she could see was red, but she wouldn’t pull over, and  _ that  _ is why she got in a car crash, slamming into a tree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eyyyy, another Greek mythology thing  
> hahaha  
> kill my obsessed ass before this gets out of hand, that's my only advice.


End file.
